The Heartless
by Semi-Functional Eraser
Summary: To become strong, to become a hero, all he had to do… was become heartless. Strong, gamer Jaune.
1. Chapter 1

**Alternate title: An Empty Cage**

* * *

 _To become strong, to become a hero, all he had to do… was become heartless._

 _Dragon's Dogma crossover, gamer Jaune, strong Jaune.  
_

* * *

 **Prologue**

Beneath the armor, the scars that crisscrossed his body would make a mother weep for her child and a father rage. They told untold stories of unseen horrors, of monsters that hid in the dark and lie in wait. They were long healed and the worst of them left as gashes upon his would-be corpse, cauterized or healed by a controlled miracle. But he was _still_ alive, and they told the tale.

The figure's name had been Arc, once. Jaune Arc.

But what he wore was not what Jaune Arc in his wildest nightmares ever thought he'd wear. Vicious, nightmarish blood red armor and a wide sneer of a faceplate that gave the look of an inhuman, demonic smile with long, stretching black teeth and eyes that glowed a stark yellow. A shield as dark as the night and emblazoned with a gold cross-section splattered with scarlet. A tattered cape billowing slightly at his back, looking more like a blood woven cape splattered with black than anything else. A sword held confidently in his hand, the crossguard in the finely crafted shape of intertwining draconic wings.

Jaune Arc dreamt of being a hero. This was not the appearance of a hero.

The figure swung as death itself came toward it, the Reaper's scythe descending down with a light splitting swipe. Blade met scythe, and he knew he was going to die.

Just not today.

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

" _Dad, Dad! Can you and mom teach me how to hold a sword today?"_

 _The little boy hurried up to his father and tugged on his pantleg, all smiles. In his hand he held a little cardboard sword, gripping it tightly. His father frowned, but it was quickly schooled into an indulgent smile. He ruffled his son's moppy blonde hair. "Sorry kiddo, I have to teach your sister today. Maybe tomorrow."_

" _That's what you said yesterday!" The boy pouted, stomping the floor._

" _Tomorrow!" His father said. "Jule, come on girl, let's go!" He stepped outside the house and into the backyard, followed by a young girl._

" _Yes Dad!" She spared the boy only a small glance as she hefted a blade of her own, most certainly not made of cardboard, before she stepped outside as well._

 _The boy watched them practice from the kitchen window silently. Then, he started to imitate their movements, completely unseen._

* * *

 _He hit the ground with a painful thud. His sister had kicked him a clear distance, her aura already unlocked. She stood a head and a half shorter than him but moved him like a paper weight. The shame that heated his cheeks was nothing to his frustration at that moment, and he scrambled back to his feet. He charged, pushing back the discomfort of not being able to breathe and_ forcing _himself to, rearing he sword in his hand back, poising his shield as he had seen so many times. She rolled her eyes._

" _Time!"_

 _He stopped instantly, feet skidding into the ground. His sister hadn't even moved and went so far as to cross her arms as she shook her head. Off to the side his father held a stopwatch. The ten minutes were up. He knew he hadn't scored a single hit, and his body was lightly bruised, scuffed, and dirty from the dry dirt he had skid through. His sister, contrastingly but unsurprisingly, was unscathed._

 _He avoided looking at his father. He didn't need to see him to see the disappointed look in his face that he quickly schooled. He didn't even need to hear it, he simply knew it was there._

 _At fifteen years old he was quickly reaching his father's height. His sisters took some a great many of their looks from both of their parents, but he took after his father. From the very hue of his hair to the shape of his eyes and now his height, he was almost the spitting image of his father, though he lacked the rugged, world-weary look and the scar on his chin. He was like his father in everything except ability._

 _Tiredly, the blonde man shook his head as he rubbed his temple. He didn't even bother trying to hide the action at this point. "Let's… go get some dinner."_

" _But I'm not done yet!" He heaved, gritting his teeth in barely restrained frustration._ An _Arc_ doesn't get _frustrated, he told himself._ They get _determined._ You can do this, you can _-_

 _But the doubt was already there. His sister, proud of her heritage and even more so by the fact that she was evidently just as prodigal as her parents and elder siblings, huffed and turned away from him, if not ignorant of his dilemma, then apathetic. She was one of the youngest children, the seventh one to be exact._

 _He didn't blame her for the snub, but he wouldn't let it, or the way his other siblings looked at him, get to him. Unfortunately it already had. He'd prove_ _himself, and the way their looks of confusion that had once said, "We can do it, why can't you?" before they turned into bemusement and annoyance would disappear_ forever _. The way his mother would sigh, but then smile and say it was alright, that he didn't have to be a skilled warrior like the rest of his family, that they still loved him – he'd never have to see that again._

 _The way his father's disappointed look always hit him hard would go away. Not now, though. He refused to stop. "I'm not-" he started, but his father shook his head._

" _Let's go," his father said, his voice baritone._

 _He walked back inside the house without another word, his daughter following after him, sheathing her self-crafted weapon with finesse like it was second nature. They didn't even bother to look back at him. He sighed at the reoccurring lack of faith._

 _That was not the day Jaune Arc lost faith in wanting to be like his family, it was simply the day he stopped believing he could be_ like _them._

* * *

As a child, the boy who had grown up to be Jaune Arc dreamt of being a hero. He dreamt of following in his father's footsteps, and his father's father before him. The Arcs held a long line of strong men and women, heroes and warriors. At a young age Jaune's father had been trained and so too had Jaune's sisters. His mother, though not an Arc, was a welcome addition to the family. They were all strong.

Jaune Arc was not.

In the kindest way it could be said, and his parents had indeed said it so often that he couldn't ever forget, Jaune simply… wasn't. Their words, "You don't have to be," soon sunk in to him from a young age, and as bright as he was, he knew what they meant.

His family was full of strong warriors, his sisters trained from a young age and showing prodigious aptitude in combat. Jaune did not.

"You don't _have_ to be like them."

They were intuitive with a blade or a weapon. They were prodigies like their parents.

" _You_ don't have to be, Jaune."

They were fit to be heroes.

"You _don't_ have to be, Jaune."

They were fit to be Arcs.

"You _don't_ have to b- _Jaune!_ _"_

Jaune never forgot that.

It wasn't very pleasant, living like that, but it was all he knew. Knowing that his parent's sighs were because of him, that they refused to train him because he hadn't shown the same amount of aptitude as his sisters. Jaune was the black sheep, the odd one out, the failure. His relatives knew how to hold a weapon with ease from a young age, and it had been expected that he would too. Not only was he the youngest in the Arc family, but he was also the only boy, the scion, the spitting image of his father.

He was supposed to be the one that imbued them with pride, too.

"You don't _have_ to be, Jaune."

But he wanted to, he _so_ did. He wanted to share in the laughs and revelry instead of being the cute, coddled, and protected youngest child. So, he had taken the family heirloom one night. The sword belonging to his grandfather. The stage was set, his plan already in motion. He would become a hero, would become strong, and he wouldn't return until he did. Until he was fit to be an Arc.

In his mind, not even in its depths, but where the niggling dearth of confidence and insecurity dwelled, he doubted they'd miss him. Who'd ever miss a disappointment? He was a child, a sibling. A _brother,_ a _son_. But was he an Arc? Not in his mind.

He wouldn't be a disappointment one for long, though. In the moment, he thought it was a good plan. It was _heroic_ , it was _determined._ It was _ballsy_ and something his great grandfather would have done. Something an _Arc_ would have done!

…And it got him killed.

Falling between the crags of split earth, white, impenetrable mist gave way to murky green and black smokes. Jaune's life flashed before his eyes as he fell to his death. Receiving his fake transcripts, arriving at Beacon Academy, meeting the silver eyed girl who, now that his head was swimming, he couldn't properly recall her name. He could remember being flung off a cliff by the Headmaster of the school of course, and being chased by a deathstalker, and of someone pressing their hand into his chest and feeling… warm inside, renewed. Capable, for once.

Then he remembered running for his life repeatedly. A gigantic black bird in the sky with eyes as red as blood. Feathers piercing the ground like knives through butter. Crumbling stone, adrenaline, attacking even though it was useless, with a sword he taught himself how to use in his hand and a shield as useless as a rock strapped to his fist. Shouting, clanging, movement, thinking how could he _ever_ keep up with these people, how useless he was, how much of a _disappointment-_

How he kept going. Thunderous steps, inhuman screeches of pain. Y _ou can do it!_ He thought, pointlessly and without belief. Charging. _You're_ supposed _to be an_ Arc _!_ Raising his sword to deliver the killing blow. The deathstalker's carapace fragmented right at the edge of its head, revealing a fleshy, pale target. So _close…_

 _Make your family proud for_ once _in your_ life!

Something bumped into him, a shield from the side. A spear struck the deathstalker and embedded itself almost the entire way. He stumbled, the force of the collision leaving him unable to stop.

He remembered seeing the edge of the cliff and belatedly realizing that there was nothing after that. He remembered his first step on air, and how his foot fell, and how his heart _seized_ and _jumped_ in the same fraction of a second as the air left his lungs in a gasp and he _choked._

Someone shouted. _"Sorry!"_ and he distinctly remembered it, but then the friendly tone was followed by a sharp scream of horror.

Jaune barely heard it as the wind rushed past his ears and he felt himself starting to fall. His first step lead to the grasp of a jealous, coveting gravity.

And he felt stupid. _This_ was where his desire to live up to his family name landed him. His entire life he felt as though he didn't fit in his own family because he wasn't wasn't strong enough.

" _You don't have to b- Jaune!"_

"Jaune? _Jaune!"_

His parents were right.

This wasn't worth it.

* * *

He had shut his eyes as he fell to the ground. Cloying hot mist, and then cold, and then freezing, as he came nearer and nearer to his final, ignominious end rushed past his face and filled his lungs. It… was certainly taking a long time, he thought. Probably why they called it the _Forever_ _Fall-_

He hit the ground though and felt nothing. Then he felt _everything_. Surprisingly, there was no pain.

Maybe it would kick in after a few seconds? Like being kicked so hard in the stomach by his sister and flying back, hitting the ground, and not realizing he couldn't breathe until his lungs were screaming?

No, just… sand. Sand? And water. Wet. Salty, briny. Jaune hadn't been to a beach in years.

Rushing water. His eyes were still shut tight. The smell and sound and sensation was unmistakable. He had landed on a beach. Why was there a beach at the bottom of the cliff? Why was he alive? Was he even alive?

Jaune turned over and looked up, expecting to see onyx spires and a battle raging above him, the Nevermore flying overhead. If he was alive, then obviously he couldn't have fallen far. Perhaps he could ask someone to help him back up. If anyone noticed.

He was on his stomach, and the sensation was the opposite of feeling as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. He felt rested, albeit wet and cold and hot at the same time as the water seeped into his clothes. His sword, he noticed, was only a foot away, his shield still in his arms. That was when he heard it. A snort.

But it was too loud to be human, or anything. There was something about it, something… unnatural? No, unfamiliar. Then he felt hot, arid air. It was deep, and powerful, like the roar of an engine rather than an exhalation of breath. Cluelessly, Jaune turned.

It took some seconds for what he saw to kick in. Then, he made a small noise, that of all air evacuating his lungs and running for the hills.

It was larger than him by so many times, saying it would be redundant. He was to this… thing, what a small puppy would be to him. Jaune had gotten his father's looks and his height, but not his ability, and towered over his family. That was his only exemplar. This… the wings, the horns, the scales…. This dragon – and yes, he realized with a sudden, manic calm, it is _indeed a dragon –_ was fucking _huge._

 _Dragons were fairy-tales,_ a disbelieving part of him said. Even this disbelieving part conceded the argument before it had even begun. _Were_ , because there was no mistaking this sight, no denying it. No saying, _No, this is a_ dream. No running away.

The scales were red and amber and golden and gleaming with sunlight, only marred by ageless grime and scuffs. They were each as large as his face and Jaune saw, with only a step backward, that they were right above him. He was beneath its _belly,_ the long stretch of its _neck_ , and, most importantly, its _head_. The massive cranium craned down to look at him with horns as red as blood and sleek, black teeth that seemed more like daggers than anything, its eyes as narrowed as keyholes and glowing like embers, a maw full of fire ready to burn everything to a fine and unrecognizable crisp.

It was in that moment Jaune experienced an inhuman, even _infaunus,_ acuity that relayed his surroundings. Beach. Brown stonework. Ruined buildings. Gigantic footsteps. An endless horizon. Bodies everywhere.

Moans. Screams. Pleas for help.

The eyes regarded him emotionlessly, and he looked into them as well. He could see his reflection in the proportionately tiny organs, though they each where as large as half his head. Emblazened yet intelligent, there was no mistaking that look. Calculating. Jaune had seen it before. His father, his mother, his superior siblings.

" _What will you do now_?" They seemed to ask, looking at him. Their stance was controlled, refined, but after a while it became dismissive. Jaune couldn't _do_ anything, not to them. He'd try, but he couldn't accomplish anything.

But he would do it anyway.

It was not to say that Jaune had learned nothing from the comparatively tiny amount of training he had been given. Though he had been brushed aside in favor for his sisters, he had learned more than nothing. Enough to know when to move, albeit clumsily. Enough to know how to hold a sword in his hands as he rolled, how to ignore the discomfort of his body hitting the ground, regardless of if it was dirt, or sand in his face.

The sword was in his hand and he thought of nothing. Nothing good, anyhow. Admittedly Jaune's last thoughts were, again, of his family. How they would have done it better, how he didn't _know_ how to do it better. Bits and pieces flashed before his eyes, only cementing this.

And he struck out, angry, sad, and desperate. Disappointed, raging, and tired, thinking that even in in his last moments, his _family_ would have done better. His father had the strength of ten men his size and could have bulldozed through a crowd if he so wished. His mother had the finesse of a cat, and his sisters each took after either one. Any one of them could have been the one to do _something._ People were in trouble, but it was _he_ who was here. They'd die. The greatest of ironies – the wanna-be hero would fail.

"You don't have to be, Jaune."

He, the wanna-be Arc, would fail.

"You don't have to- _Jaune!"_

He'd try anyway. He didn't have to be an Arc to know never to quit. If he died, he wouldn't die ashamed of himself for trying to be something he wasn't: An Arc.

" _I don't have to be."_

He roared, but the ominous descent of the claw seemed to drown out the noise. The sound of wet sand smacking and water rushing muted him and then the claw collided with him. Jaune's stance, sloppy as always, was easily broken as he was flung a good twenty feet where he stood. His shield went flying and his sword, no, not _his_ sword, his _great_ _grandfather's_ sword embedded itself into the creature's claw harmlessly. Jaune could see it all in slow motion as he flew back.

He saw nothing, but felt everything. He smiled. Now _that_ felt like getting kicked in the stomach. And, as the world darkened, he thought it was pretty nostalgic.

The dragon watched the boy's comparatively miniscule form hit the ground distantly. Instead of running, he had attacked…. His body skid across the sand in wet smacks, painfully rolling into a heap. The force of the blow that sent him flying should have killed him, easily, but that was easily rectified if so.

Curious, the dragon looked toward the sky. His voice, like fine gravel and tumbling from his throat like a cavalcade, was loud even as he murmured, "Seneschal…"

The dragon, whose name had once been Grigori, looked up with no result. He was not surprised. Then he shook his massive head and the fire brimming in his mouth died, swallowed into his massive belly. He had completed his task, he mused. No one needed to die in order to rouse some brave, or stupid, or _strong_ spirit to stand up.

The villagers would live their life in a… cyclical nature, unto the end of time. However, it was curious… this was yet another round in the cycle, yet the first that those on the beach did not perish in this time, in this place, at this event. If he had still possessed the ability, Grigori would have felt surprised. Instead he felt refreshed, a bit intrigued, and smoke billowed from his mouth.

He picked the soon to be Arisen's body up in one claw, pinching the fabric of his clothing between two massive talons with the utmost accuracy, and laid him into his palm. "Perhaps this will break the wheel," he mused, inspecting the boy. Then, in a controlled annoyance, he uttered, "I hope it tears it _asunder_."

In an almost perfunctory way his claw descended and stabbed through Jaune's chest. A quiet, choked sound came from his throat, immediately followed by a rush of blood, but he was dead before anything could register. The claw was so large it eclipsed his entire chest, and the fine, immeasurably sharp point cleaved through bone and flesh and organ like butter, leaving a nightmarish gash marred by torn bone and viscera, not unlike a dissected rat.

Disgust having perished cycles ago, Grigori raised the claw to his mouth, no, his _maw_ , and looked at the heart. It had been quite some time since he had seen one so bright, possibly the brightest ever. The current Duke had been weak, and barely glowing, but this… this shone like the sun. Like fire. It beat, pulsated, and _pounded_ … all the way into his stomach, where it continued to do so, and Grigori instantly knew of the boy, down to his last memory, down to the very last desire of his heart.

Relatively gently, he laid the body over the ground. It was nothing more than a nightmarish corpse at that point, but it was easily rectified. Grigori's magic was second to only the Seneschal's, and he waved his mighty claw over the body and it glowed a divine gold. The reaper would not have its due, not by age or injury, at least for now.

As the claw passed, like a dark cloud in front of the sun, all that remained was bloody rags of clothing and an unseemly, frightening scar. The flesh was mended in the shape of a jagged claw and beneath it, the cage where his heart had once been was empty.

Grigori did not look back as he flew off, his wings beating with such force that the seat itself was upset and tumultuous. If one strained their ears they could hear, "This better be the one, Seneschal. Getting _real_ tired of this shit."

The frightened villagers of Cassardis soon peeked from their shelters and saw that the dragon was gone. Voices from throughout the village cried, and shivered, and even cheered. Those on the beach pointed toward the bloody figure, said that he had stood up to it, his sword still in its claw as it flew off. The injured would get to see their families once more because of _him_. The village would not be destroyed, and life could return to normal.

He had _saved_ them. He was a hero.

Jaune Arc had achieved what he thought was his life's dream. To be strong, to be a hero… all he had to do was become heartless.

* * *

The sound of something like a _click_ made him stir. It was smooth, not mechanical. He couldn't place it.

Then the sound of some instrument. An organ? Something deep and ominous that vaguely recalled the image of a church. He opened his eyes.

Staring for seconds on end, he still couldn't understand what he was seeing. Faded gold letters, a scarlet dragon behind them, and corrupted, jagged lettering beneath it all touched in a firey splatter of blood. He saw his name.

 **Jaune Arc!** It read.

 **Welcome to Dragon's Dogma: Dark Arisen!**

So… he _was_ dead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

" _The heart, the cause of much pain. Sometimes I fear one would be better off without it. The pain, or the heart? Why, both, of course."_

" _A fire of determination, fed by that which is of rot, is not and nor shall it_ ever _be, preferable to one fed by an honest desire."_

* * *

" _Rrgh, where are your legs?!"_ The furious shout rang out, echoing and carrying in the long, winding tunnels alongside the sound of rushing, murky and aged water. _"I_ promise _I'm going to break them_ quickly!"

The hammer collided with the scythe of the Reaper itself. In a show of sparks, the spiked edge of the mighty weapon clanged so loud the sound shot through the tunnels and circled back around, carried for hundreds of feet on end and reverberating, shaking the water itself in an audible, ever turning wheel. The combined force of the hammer, and a sudden surge of strength from the sword, pushed back Death _itself_ and the cloak figure was as a shadow floating in mid-air, menacing with its dark visage and indifferent, but unflappable movements.

It was not a fight they could win right now. A riftstone, he decided, they needed to retreat!

He shouted. _"Run!"_ At the top of his lungs, his voice tore through the darkness, leaving him feeling hoarse.

" _I can't, master!"_ Came the return, unintentionally spitting in the face of the uncontested rule of Pawns, to obey _implicitly. "I refuse to leave you behind!"_

There was no time to feel any warmth behind those words. The scythe descended.

* * *

 **It appears you already have save data present. Attempting to load save file (please do not turn off 'system')… Attempting to merge save data with current world state…**

… **Merge save data failed. Load save file failed. Attempting to load save file contents…**

… **Load error: it appears the save data present on the 'system' is either corrupt, or incompatible. Save Parameters REMNANT not valid. Warning, attempting to integrate save contents with current save game could lead to corruption. Would you like to attempt to integrate save previous save, REMNANT_JauneArc?**

 **Yes/No?**

… **There is no system such as AURA present in this game. Would you like to forcibly integrate it?**

… **There is no such vocation such as HUNTSMAN in this game. Would you like to forcibly integrate it?**

… **There is no such ability as SEMBLANCE in this game. Would you like to forcibly integrate it?**

 **Yes/No?**

 **Yes/No?**

 **Yes/No? Yes/No? Yes/No? Yes/No? Yes/N** -

* * *

"You're awake."

He jumped at the sudden voice. His vision, at once clouded boxes upon boxes asking for some now covered script, erupted in a show of light. It was as if he'd been staring into the dark and now the light of the room at once made him cringe and cover his eyes. But just like that, the boxes were gone, and he was back in…

Jaune didn't know where he was.

He looked around the room. Sandy stonework, but it was nothing he had ever seen. It certainly didn't bare any resemblance to any type of building he had been in. It just didn't… click. In fact, it didn't look like anyone ever built any room, and thus building, like it. It was sparse, but crafted, with self-made shelves and potted plants and a fire place at the end of it all, but lacked the amenities and such that he had come to expect from the world he knew.

He rubbed at his eyes and absently waved his hand around, right where the words and boxes used to be, where he was sure his name- _**Jaune Arc!-**_ sat with **Dragon's Dogma: Dark Arisen** in cheery, odd greeting, despite the morbidity of a splatter of blood. He felt only the oddity of it, and blinked.

Jaune heard a slight giggle and readily realized that he wasn't alone again. Having lost himself in the momentary investigation, he hadn't heard the soft patter of feet on the- he looked down. The floor was made of smooth, cool gravel, and Jaune himself was laying on what had to be the most comfortable looking bedspread he had ever seen. It was so soft he hadn't even felt the floor until his palm touched the cool stone and he recoiled from the temperature.

Hissing, he caught sight of two feet, and then knees, and slowly, his eyes went up. It was a girl.

Her hair, chestnut and long enough to reach well past her shoulders, she had two peculiar tufts at the top that made them look almost like… folded ears. If his vision were still bleary it certainly would have looked like she had ears sprouting from the top of her head. Apart from this she looked relatively disheveled and unrested, but she smiled at him with obvious relief. Jaune blinked at her.

She waved at him in return her, or so she thought, having taken his blind-to-the-world motion as a hello. It was a shy, dainty wave, fraught with hesitancy. She looked nice, Jaune thought distantly. Then, just as distantly, he thought the last thing he felt before waking up was an immense pressure on his chest, and a _pop_ , then liquid, coppery liquid, in his mouth, bubbling up, and then nothing.

A morbid thought came to him, but without any feeling. The something liquid and coppery in his mouth, and then the… nothing wasn't unlike being kicked and biting his tongue, actually. Blood. But there was only a single second that seemed to stretch forever when he was kicked before his entire body would protest and lock up and he couldn't breathe.

There was no such sensation here. Simply nothing, that was all Jaune could remember before waking up. …And for some reason that didn't bother him.

"We were all worried," the girl, no, young woman, said. She pursed her lips. "Everyone in the village has been waiting."

Jaune shook his head. What was she talking about? _Village_? He opened his mouth to speak, but found he couldn't. His throat felt very dry and the noise that came out of his mouth was like dust and glass at once.

"Oh, my apologies, ser!" The girl said, jumping in fright. Her hair bounced up and down, as well as the ear-like tufts on top of her head as she moved to one of the shelves before the sandy wall, and came back with a tall bottle of water. With the sweet bedside manner of a nurse she motioned for him to still and reached out, hesitantly touching his shoulder as she motioned for him to lean his head back. With his throat as dry as it had ever been in his life, Jaune had no complaints.

The water went down cold, and it was the best thing Jaune had ever tasted in his life, balancing everything out. Almost. He coughed slightly, and as he shook his head to get the cobwebs out, he peered over the girl's shoulder to see any sign of wild boxes. There was none, clever boxes. "V-Village?"

"Cassardis, ser," the young woman said, nodding astutely. At any other time Jaune would have felt uncomfortable with her being so close, but he had other things on his mind. "I who live he- _we_ who live here," she corrected herself cutely, sparing a moment to scold herself, "dearly wanted to thank you for-"

"Thank me?" Jaune asked. "For what?"

The images came in an unwelcome way. Jaune could feel a strange pit in his… his _chest_ , and then he saw a claw, and scales, and he felt such a distant anger before he charged and-

The pieces fell into place. Jaune remembered that, and he doubt he ever would have forgotten. Much in the same way, _"You don't have to b- Jaune!"_ would never, ever leave his mind, he wouldn't forget the beach, or his… last words, a thing that, once he thought about it, sounded strange and odd and curious to him, all at once.

" _I don't have to be."_

"Dragon," Jaune muttered. "Oh man I- a _dragon,"_ he said louder, and ran a hand through his hair.

The young woman swallowed audibly. "Y-Yes," she said, and he saw her square her shoulders as if she were collecting confidence for something. "The dragon has returned…" she said, mournfully, and Jaune couldn't really blame her. If a dragon landed on his beach his day would be ruined as well, but he didn't have a beach, and he certainly didn't have a dragon. He had-

Memories. Memories of being flung like a pebble across the wet sand and tumbling, and before that, falling. Jaune frowned. _His_ day was off to a pretty bad start too, he thought.

"But no one was harmed," the young woman said, audibly relieved, and she looked at Jaune with the most grateful smile he had ever seen in his life. Amidst the dry throat, the cold water, and now this, it was a day of record breaking. "Well, not harmed, but- _no one_ perished! Thank you!"

Smooth skin and the smell of cream entered his senses while he was still trying to figure out what she was saying. It didn't make sense. And then it did. In reverse order his memories flashed back to him; the dragon, the fall, the fight, the initiation, arriving at Beacon and then vomiting on a girl and wishing the ground would swallow him up, which it actually had in the worst, delayed way ever. He _needed_ to get back to-

And then nothing. What began as a heated and sudden burst of anxiety simply dissipated, as if there wasn't any _thing_ there to fuel the emotion. There was, simply, no heart behind it and without it Jaune's sudden urge fell flat, as did his reaction. He was…

 _Welcome to Dragon's Dogma: Dark Arisen!_

He wasn't in Vale anymore, definitely, and… it was likely he wasn't on Remnant anymore, either. That thought was like cold and still water, undisturbed and untroubling. But Jaune was willing to bet his family name that it was right, and _that_ got a reaction from him. Whereas before there had been a sudden _nothing_ , like a popped balloon, there was now…cold indifference.

The strongest emotions he felt when thinking of his _family, h_ is _family name,_ of the _Arcs_ in their _strong_ , impressive motley… and then him off to the side. They weren't there. There was nothing for the hundredth time, and Jaune felt _nothing_ strong for it, felt no shame or unease or determination fueled by those things, no inadequacy or shame, no-

" _You don't have to b- Jaune!"_

No sadness. He thought of _Arc_ again and blinked at how empty it felt. All of his life, _Arc_ brought with it a myriad of emotion and very few good on a personal level, but now… now there simply wasn't any _heart_ in it anymore.

That was all the better. The new thought came with a certainty, a distant and frank acknowledgement. The only reason he was here was _because_ of his 'family name'. He _didn't_ have to be. It got him to fall off of a cliff and… and into a fight with a fucking _dragon_. It just wasn't worth it, the Arc name wasn't it.

Now he was here in a- Dear Oum, either he was in a _game_ , or dead.

The sensation of the young woman pulling away from the hug he hadn't noticed ousted the latter possibility from his head. Her hair tickled him and he blinked as if he'd shut his eyes at some point. He couldn't remember the last time a girl that wasn't his sister or his mother hugged him, and the former was usually in a half-hearted consoling way, as was the latter.

She was looking at him strangely. No, not strangely, worriedly. "Ser?" She asked. "Are you well?" Then she frowned, and herself, and bit her lip. "How rude of me to ask, you're-"she bit her lip again and looked at him, wincing. "Your chest is…"

"My chest?" Jaune asked, and looked down. What he saw made him stop for a few moments and closely observe the sight. When he was finished, the young woman was clenching her jaw and his gaze was mostly empty as he muttered, "Well… Ow."

The girl, girl now being fitting because of the noise she made, shook her head. "I'm sorry you had to suffer as such, ser," she sighed. "The dragon… it has _marked_ you."

Jaune looked at her as the images of the claw, and the scales, and the feeling of his chest popping like a bottle of champagne flashed before him. He remembered choking- now, he remembered a lot of things. Too much. He rubbed at his eyes as if it would accomplish anything, and ignored that it didn't.

"Marked? What-" he paused, and then slowly shook his head. "I don't think I _want_ to know what that means."

He'd never seen such an apologetic look. Not even from his own family. That elicited another missing feeling in his chest, comparable to that of a hammer missing its bell, just barely. So close, but… nothing. Instead, Jaune felt disillusioned.

"…It means you are Arisen, then," the girl sighed.

"Awhatnow?" Jaune repeated after a moment, utterly confused.

She gave him a strange look. "The one destined to slay the dragon," she began, looking at him for any signal of recognition and finding none. "The dragon has claimed your heart, and to retrieve it you must slay it."

"That… sounds like a children's story," Jaune said blandly.

She laughed. "Aye, it's the basis of many a child's story before bed… but is none the less true, and well known, too." She looked at him again and laughed a little, tired laugh. " _Usually_."

Jaune placed his hand against the scar with a shaking breath as if a single touch would cause it to burst open and he'd be rent into two. He could _see_ the claw _, feel_ it, now, _hear_ the squelch, and-

Nothing. What would have caused the heart to race by quickening his pulse was instead met with silence, and Jaune was… calm. Too calm, _unnaturally_ calm… and Jaune didn't have any complaints. There were no words, no hitching of his breath or fearful catches in his movement, no cold leaps of his stomach that accompanied the sudden, dread realization.

No skips of his heart… because there wasn't one.

Jaune pat his chest once, twice, and _beat_ on it hard when nothing else was there, all with the cool and distant exterior of someone who didn't _feel_ anything. Because he didn't. He beat again, harder. This was, without a doubt, _supposed_ to be a heart thumping, exciting moment, yes? But there was _nothing_. The lifelong thrum of his heart in his chest was silent, and now that it was gone Jaune felt… he didn't _feel_ anything other than a keen surprise that his chest did not _beat,_ and _that_ was the problem! He couldn't _feel_ his heart, and he didn't feel _any_ _thing_ from that! No fear, no sadness, no anxiety, _no_ -

"Ser, please!"

Jaune felt the hands scramble and wrench his own fist from his chest, fingernails digging into his skin. For the first time he realized that the girl, what was her name? He didn't know her name, but her cute face was red, panicked, worried, and distraught… and it was _her_ heart Jaune could hear, it was beating so loud. And there was that look again, that soulful concern that had slowly melted away from his family's faces with bemusement in its stead.

"I can't…" Jaune started, and then trailed off. He looked at his chest and felt… tingles. Hardly a good substitute, but he was grateful for that much. "I feel… Monty, I don't- I don't feel _anything_."

He thought about his family, and felt nothing. The same with the Arc name, or his myriad of experiences because of it, from being bullied because he was the 'weak one', to being brushed off by his own sisters to being coddled like some malformed puppy to feeling ashamed that he needed to be protected, _had_ to, of being so _incompetent_ -

Hot shame and frustration fizzled. Nothing.

…And Jaune grinned. Elation, _that_ , he could feel. _Relief._ It seemed to fill the gap, even, which was all the better.

His smile calmed the girl down somewhat, and she breathed deeply. "Your h-heart, ser," she stuttered, swallowing, and once again looked at him with a most strange look, and with good reason. "The dragon has… claimed your heart, marking you as the Arisen," she repeated.

It was very doubtful anyone had ever _grinned_ upon finding out they had just lost their beating heart. But Jaune wasn't just anyone, and he grinned wider, as if the absence of heart wrenching emotion was being substituted by everything positive that had been blocked previously. Like a blocked airway, he felt refreshed.

"That's… that's kind of awesome," he laughed, hearing her clearly for the first time.

She blinked owlishly at him. "I-Indeed," she said, taking his wordage for the less benevolent definition. "It was." A silence fell over them, with her looking down at the ground and Jaune looking everywhere from the ceiling to the fire to his hands, and finally to his chest. He tapped it and felt nothing, save an empty cage.

For her part, she feared his grin might split his face. Worse still, she feared he had gone _insane,_ and she damned that mean, mean old dragon.

"Ser?" She started. "If I may have your name?" She found herself caught off guard by the smile that turned toward her. It was… boyish, but too genuine, too honest to be anything else, and her face turned a softer shade of red.

"Yes,: he said without thinking. "Jaune. Jaune A-" and he stopped, and frowned before starting again a second later. "- _Jaune_. Short, sweet, and to the point."

In the corner of his eye, Jaune saw a box pop up. Out of view and unobtrusive, he could still see the image of a turning wheel, an ouroboros, accompanying a message that was succinct in its calm lettering.

 **Creating** **autosave** _…_

 **Integration in process…**

She nodded, smiling. "Ser Jaune," she tested the name out. It sounded bright, to her, and she gestured to herself. "I am Velvet Scarlaquina, but if you wish… my friends simply call me Velvet."

* * *

 **Thanks for the reviews everyone.**

 **garoorar: Pawns tend to be adorable, as does Ruby. Jaune is... well, he fell into the Forever Fall. Take out the F-O, and you get...?**

 **Galabrax: Hey, shameless not-promotion! Jaune will end up in Remnant, but the scar, specifically the one on his chest, stays. It's bad. Not badass, just bad.**

 **I've seen other Gamer fics make use of _something_ called Gamer's Mind, but I haven't ever read that particular webcomic. However, I saw a parallel between what I did and what I've seen the Gamer's mind do, and liked it. Yay, me.**


	3. Chapter 3

" _...My_ _heart_ _still exists, Jaune. I am simply not eager to reclaim it, or the pain it has brought me. And, I would wager that you feel the same way. I am living proof you don't need a heart to live - though I hope people don't follow my example. You, my boy, are proof that you don't **need** a heart, to __**have**_ _heart."_

" _...I bid you: hone your spirit._ _ **Refine**_ _it._ _ **Free**_ _me of this endless **chain**!" _

* * *

_He wouldn't have been recognized if they could see him now. He didn't move the way he had, wasn't supposed to be that fast, that purposeful or refined. His feet were supposed to trip over each other and he was to fall, groan in shame, and continue on. That soon became the norm, the expected, of one Jaune Arc._

 _And being unrecognized had its perks._

 _The Reaper's scythe fell with a shriek of cut wind and in the frozen fraction of a moment, and his chest glowed. Somewhere deep within the darkness of its cloak, the Reaper glowed as well, a cold and pale argent to his halcyon. It gave the Reaper pause, but only for a moment._

 _That was all he needed. He stabbed his sword into the ground and darted to the side with his shield out, the momentum causing him to blur and his shield to batter the air itself with enough force to make a shockwave._

 _A bubbly voice cried out in shock, its owner bulldozed away from the swipe and into ageless water. The pawn crashed into the water, auburn hair coming up for air seconds later, and the scythe cut inches too short away from him as the Reaper continued its swing with a dreary monotony._

 _He kept his momentum going, the movement from his shield carrying him into an expert vault that landed him on his feet. The scythe gouged through stone and earth and air like they were all butter, whistling through each like the swiftest arrow. His stride broke out into a pace. A jog, then a run, then a sprint. His hand lashed out and yanked at his pawn's collar, trailing her after him without effort. She was heavy, and her hammer heavier still, but not heavy enough._

 _"Master!" She cried. "Your sword!"_

 _He did love that sword."Get to the riftstone! Now!"_

 _Before she could protest he lobbed her forward, over a rickety old bridge that cleared the gap between one side of the cistern and the other. She landed in the clearing by dimly lit stairs, her form rolling in the murk with a loud, cold splash._

 _It was an implicit order, one that she couldn't, or at least he hoped she couldn't disobey. He turned to face the towering form of the Reaper as it floated up to him, every cold, eerie billow of its cloak bringing nightmares to the person he used to be, Jaune Arc. Its frigid indifference met his determined scowl, and there was an impasse._

 _The billowing of its hood froze and its movement ceased as it regarded him. For a moment, a single moment, it held the scythe like something cherished, and the haunted, forsaken voice that chilled the very waters he stood in reminded him of someone else, somewhere else._

 _"J-Jaune?" A very frightened, very quiet and confused voice called out from somewhere deep inside the cloak. "_ _ **Jaune?**_ _"_

 _Then hell started to break loose._

 _The scythe slashed outward in a stance change, and the quiet, meek voice became distorted, his name giving way to chilling incantations. The world lit in an eerie red pallor and the reaper started to swirl. Roses flitted through the air until it was a cyclone of red, and then dead flowers. The lantern became scarlet and its hood suffused with old and dried blood down to its very tatters, which hung limply to the floor like clothes off of a hanging marionette._

 _It looked almost familiar to him, but the little reaper he had known wasn't that... big._

 _His eyes darted to his sword. It gleamed in the new light like an arc of blood stuck in the ground, all the way to the hilt. Working quickly, he lashed out with his hand and a sigil, a single orb of darkness darted to the blade, landing inches away. It sucked at the air and ground with a hunger to swallow everything it could, whirring as loud as the engine of a bulwark, and what wasn't firmly implanted in the ground came tumbling toward the miniature black hole._

 _Bricks and stone and bone, roots and bark and abandoned weapons, fungi and flesh all came rolling into its center. Yet and still the blade didn't budge - It was firmly implanted into the ground, almost to the hilt. It shook and budged, but didn't free itself._

 _Annoyance was past him now. In the scant seconds that followed the Reaper's incantation, a veritable cavalcade of refuse had collected in that one spot. Retrieving his blade had never been the plan._

 _Another sphere shot out with a wave of his hand, and he was already moving. This one sucked him in ravenously, ignoring all else and calling to him with the wail of a dead lover as the incantations became more human, more noticeable, and his name more prevalent amongst the distressed calling._

 ** _"Let me be your beacon!_** _I will save you_ _! Jau **ne**_ ** _ **?"**_** A _choked noise_. **_"Jaune!?"_**

 _The darkness swirled and quickened his pace until his feet could no longer keep up. Then he was in the air, vaulting, and his hilt directly beneath him. With a swift and straining tug he wrenched the blade from stone and dismissed the sigil, ducked behind the collection of refuse, and started his own incantation._

 _Three. Two. One._

 _Darkness gave way to a glow, and light erupted in a show of gold that streamed in vicious licks to anything before it. In appearance alone the tongues of light were anything but benevolent, taking upon the appearance of anything from scaled and fierce dragons to charging, fallen soldiers._

 _It hit the boulder of waste first, passing through it harmlessly. Then it collided with force into the reaper, and the light show that ensued showed arcs upon arcs of vicious, draconic shaped light attacking the Reaper on all sides they disappeared in a sudden and blinding absence of light. It did nothing._

 _The incantations continued. Grunting, he kicked the boulder as it started to glow, first a faint ember color as burst-rock began to ignite from the inside, and then it became as heated as magma. It collided with the Reaper in an explosion that rocked the cistern and the walls started to crumble sealing off the only exit._

 _He'd need to find another way out now._

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

Jaune was hardly the smartest of his siblings, but he had learned how to observe; it had been easy, watching them spar and train and sitting on the sidelines as much as he did.

The wheel spun like a dragon, and the head of the ouroboros, which was decidedly draconic, disappeared into scattering embers as the head emerged from it to start the cycle anew. If the fire wasn't enough to jog his memory, the wings were.

He could see it again. Big, red, and… nothing. What he was sure would have been fear, an emotion that Jaune was unfortunately too familiar with, died before it could become anything. He could see the dragon - the big fucking dragon, he stressed inwardly - and that was all.

The dragon of **Dragon's Dogma: Dark Arisen**. The dragon that split him open and plucked his heart out.

What was the best way to describe losing your heart?

Eviscerated, maybe.? _Disorgan-ified_. _'Dead off his feet'_.

He shook his head and looked at Velvet, interrupted from his thoughts. The game was called Dragon's Dogma, and there was the dragon, and he was the _Arisen_ destined to slay it… In a matter of seconds Jaune came to the conclusion that he was the main character.

All things considered, that was a pretty cool deduction.

Then, what Velvet had called him clicked. "Wait, did you just- _Ser_ Jaune?"

"Y-Yes?" she asked, more than said. "You _are_ a knight, yes? Your sword- well, Chief Adaro said you had a sword, and your shield, and-"

"No," Jaune said, "I'm not a knight, just… Just…"

A wanna-be , would-be huntsman. When Jaune had told his family that he wanted to be one, like them, like his mother, father, and eldest sisters, they had laughed. "You don't _have_ to be, Jaune," one of them had said. In hindsight, he felt as if running away from home to be one would have ended, as badly as it began.

A cursory inspection of the room led him to believe that there wasn't any electricity, and from that, other deductions came about. No _electricity_ meant no _technology_ , no technology was related to a lack of dust, which meant a lack of huntsmen and huntresses, which meant no academies, which certainly meant no huntsmen. No huntsmen, no… No grimm.

Which meant that he wasn't on Remnant. The floating messages that Remnant certainly didn't possess just gained even more credence.

Jaune recalled how his choices had led him to where he was. Falling to his death… in front of a dragon. It seemed to be his luck, all things considered. But, at least he hadn't died before the game started. Unless losing his heart counted. In some games that did, but those had at least three hearts. He didn't even have that much.

"…I'm stupid," he said, and Velvet frowned at that. "I was… _falling_ , and fighting this big, flying thing with my- some others, and-"

"Then you fell." Velvet finished. "You were… fighting the dragon?"

"Nevermore, actually." Jaune nodded to himself at her expression. "You… don't know what that is."

It was her turn to nod, and she observed him with large, attentive doe eyes. They reminded him of someone, but weren't silver enough.

"How about a _grimm_?" He asked, a last ditch effort to reconcile his state in the world, and almost because of that, the message popped up again. **Integration in process** , it read, almost as if it were trying to make a point.

Velvet's smile was hesitant. "A dark circumstance?" she joked.

" _Not_ a soulless monster hellbent on preying on man and Faunus-kind, right…"

"Faunu- What… Ser Jaune, what a-are you doing?"

Jaune reached over and touched the tufts of her hair and found that they were not ears, but they were very, very soft, and she was not a Faunus. Remnant had Faunus, Remnant had White Fang and the Grimm and the SDC. This place didn't.

The message appeared again, and even blinked twice this time. **Integration in process… World integration error, parameter REMNANT_SDC invalid. Parameter REMNANT_WhiteFang invalid.**

Well, there was that.

He cleared his voice, but did a double take when her hair fell in exactly the same shape, which was that of two large rabbit ears that sagged due to their weight, or in her case, her hair. "You said I'm in Cassardis?"

Velvet nodded, sparing a glance at her hair and then at him before smiling, and Jaune could swear he heard her mutter under her breath, "Why do boys always like to touch my hair?" and Jaune would have said, "Because they look like extremely cute bunny ears," but in a moment of foresight he wondered if it was appropriate. His father's advice about blind confidence hadn't really done him any favors in… ever.

"Yes, Ser Jaune. Cassardis, we are a fishing village on the coast of Gransys," Velvet said.

Consulting his knowledge of games, which were the only thing he could hope to best his siblings in, even though the uselessness of it in comparison never failed to fill him with a lack of pride, Jaune gestured vaguely as he said, "…Not Vale? Or Mistral, or Atlas? Vacuo?"

He already had his answer, but Velvet's frown drove it home. He doubted they even had- of course they didn't have cars. "I… I have never heard of any such… places? Ser Jaune, are you alright?"

Jaune stared at the little whirling circle that decided it was a good idea to move to the corner of wherever he looked, and that was now down and to the right of his left knee. His mouth opened, but for a long stretch of seconds, nothing came out. "I… feel fine…" he said slowly, and he looked pointedly at his chest, tilting his head.

Cassardis, game, dragon, Dragon's Dogma. The string of thoughts came clearly to him and Jaune remembered that first, peculiar message he had seen that was… likely the beginning message of a game. That meant that this was the beginning of the game, and Cassardis was the starting area and-

Velvet watched him patiently. As his eyes started to move in deep thought, she looked at the scar on his chest and slowly placed her hand on his shoulder.

Outside of his mother or sisters, the latter was only when he was being teased, his contact with the opposite sex was woefully limited. Jaune jumped at the contact and she recoiled, muttering a quiet, "Sorry."

"I think I'm…"

He looked at _her_ expectantly, and Velvet squirmed. "Yes?"

"I don't think I'm dreaming, or dead, do you?" He asked.

For a moment she looked confused, then horrified, and then just confused again before finally shying away from his view as he continued to stare at her. She tried to laugh it off. "You're _certainly_ not dead, Ser Jaune," she said. "Which I, and everyone in the village, are grateful for. I doubt you're dreaming either - you've been asleep for nearly three days."

"Huh," he grunted, blandly. "Then I'm… _definitely_ not in Vale anymore."

Velvet tilted her head. "Vale?"

"Just for reference, what is the name of this planet?" He asked, and then cringed. "I mean _the_ planet?"

She blinked owlishly at him. "…Earth?"

"Right, right… Never heard of it," he muttered and rolled his shoulders. "Not Remnant, or even 'That Remains'? Nothing ringing a bell?" She shook her head, and to her right, Jaune found that the little message continued to swirl smoothly. It did not stutter, nor were there hang ups, it and it's blinking elliptical dots simply continued to _load_ , like a game.

 **Integration in process.** Jaune narrowed his eyes at, to Velvet, absolutely nothing.

When he started to grin again, Velvet gave him a single, worried look before rising to her feet. "I'll… I'll go get Chief Adaro." As she did, the color faded from the world and all movement except for Jaune's ceased. Another message had popped up.

 **Integration error: character model mismatch. Realigning world state…**

* * *

Velvet returned with someone who defied Jaune's expectations. He wore a worn looking burgundy coat, his hair and mustache impeccably groomed. Somehow, Jaune expected him to be portly and short, but he had a powerful build, and his eyes seemed to be closed no matter what. Jaune had the feeling he was supposed to recognize the man.

"…Goeff?"

"My boy!" The man boomed, and next to him Velvet cringed and her hands went to her ears. Jaune doubted the man was the beloved but surly sock purveyor to children and employees everywhere. The distinct lack of the scent of alcohol was the biggest clue.

Jaune was swept up and placed on his feet, and then he felt a pressure just south of crushing as the man bear hugged him and pat him on the back with enough force to make him stumble. The man pulled away and even this close Jaune couldn't even see his eyes, only white hair and a mustache.

"We're all glad you're back into sorts, lad!" The man cheered. "It was a brave thing you did, charging that beast like that! It reminds me of myself, actually. In my younger days, why I-"

"Chief, I don't think Ser Jaune needs to hear the story of how you saved Cassardis yet," Velvet interjected, gently ushering Jaune away while simultaneously wincing.

The man wasn't put out in the slightest. "Why Miss Scarlaquina, the lad's obviously going to have a wide and exciting life ahead of him!" He boomed. "Hearing about how to defeat a chimera and a saurian mage with only a lantern, a poison flask, and a stick is a valuable lesson!"

Jaune looked between the two and didn't see Velvet's expression in time. "Saurian?"

Velvet's eyes widened in horror. "No-!"

Suddenly a large, heavy hand clapped Jaune on the back and this time he did stumble. **Staggered. As you level up your stagger resistance increases, although depending on your vocation you gain base bonuses to it. Current Stagger resistance – 95 (+40 due to perk: Lackluster Arc).**

Rolling his eyes at the name, Jaune caught the tail end of an exchange. "…Professor, he just woke up after-" Velvet started, her tone placating.

"Yes, he has!" The large man said, and clapped Jaune on the shoulder again. "If he is to be Arisen then he must learn the valuable skills from a debonair warrior such as myself!" Jaune looked at his mustache and thought that was patently untrue. "So there I was, just a lad of 17, when I faced off against an entire pack of dire wolves, and-"

"Professor I thought you said this was going to be about the saurian mage and the chimera, again?" Velvet asked, looking tired.

"Nonsense! Have to work up to that, first. The lad is nascent!"

"Wait, what?" Jaune did a double take. "I thought your name was Chief Adaro?"

Velvet's look was what could only be described as 'survivor's guilt'. "Chief Professor, Peter Port Adaro," she said, and the large man nodded once, amicably.

"At your service, my boy!"

"He's… my teacher."

"And now yours as well, lad!" The Chief Professor boomed, and Velvet started to pat at her ear to get the ringing out. "Now, where was I… oh yes, the wolves. Well, you see, at the time the Duke and I were simply lads, or gents as we were known back then, because we were quite attractive to the ladyfolk! I still am, of course, but I fear Ozpin has lost his touch."

Velvet looked down at the ground with a far off, weary look.

" _Ozpin_?" Jaune blinked. "Did you say _Ozpin?"_

"Yes, Ozpin! An old and dear friend of mind. Very old, too, unfortunately the man ages like a rock. He never got to experience the joys of being as a refined wine, like myself," Port added, grooming his mustache as Velvet coughed. "We were East of Gran Soren then, just by the waycastle, and I was recalling about the time I saved an entire convoy of merchants when…"

Another message popped up, and the world went black.

 **Status: Asleep.**

The large man blinked. He shook Jaune lightly, to no avail. "Must be more tired than I thought."

Velvet sighed.

* * *

Jaune was woken up several times as he was told different stories, though what he gleamed most from them was how the status effect screen looked. A pixelated version of his head snoozing with drool running down his face was admittedly appropriate, but he was glad he wasn't actually drooling.

Port went from how he got the position of village Chief, to how he had started to train some of its people to fight monsters which, he said, were an ever present threat to civilization. This parallel wasn't lost on Jaune, nor were the implications.

In addition, Ozpin was here. _Professor Ozpin. He_ was an Arisen.

For a moment Jaune wondered if he had he ended up here, in this… hewasn't sure how to describe it, this game, this world, as well?

Nevertheless, the thought wasn't as believable when he considered the messages. The way they popped up, being that of something he would have only ever seen in a game aside, meant that his life – **save REMNANT_JauneArc** _–_ was being mixed with the game _,_ and when pieces didn't match up it _forced_ them in, and 'realigned' the world _,_ which could lead to corruption, and Jaune hadn't gotten a say in the matter.

That was pretty unfair, but so was being pit against a dragon at the beginning of a game.

Ozpin was not a headmaster, he was a Duke. Jaune didn't even know what a Duke _was_ , but it sounded important, if a little less flashy than Arisen, which, he learned, was the title given to everyone marked by that 'big fucking dragon', and that he wasn't the first.

Duke Ozpin the Dragonslayer wasn't the Ozpin that had flung him off a damn _cliff_ , but the Ozpin of this land. …A land called Gransys, and not Vale, Mistral, Atlas, or Vacuo. On a planet called Earth, not Remnant. In a game.

And Jaune's afternoon was turning out quite swell.

In a land in a game where Beacon was only known as the Duke's castle, where the grimm were supplanted by creatures like goblins and harpies, saurian (which he found were _lizard_ people as large or larger than men), and faunus referred to the animal life.

In a world where life was a game, and he was the only one who could play it... Jaune found it rather hard to complain.

Port hadn't stayed long. Velvet convinced him that Jaune needed his rest, to which he replied, "Of course! The lad has saved us all! He has a bright-" and Velvet shut the door on him, with respect.

She turned to Jaune, her expression visibly brighter, though she was visibly more tired. "Chief Adaro is a good person," she defended more than said, and sighed, "but just know that if he ever starts to say-"

And at this she paused, smiled at him and raised her finger before she took a long lock of her hair and placed it on her upper lip, and acted as though it were a big, hairy mustache. Jaune snickered. _"'I remember in my younger days a battle I had with a mage, a goat, a lion, and a snake. Only it wasn't just any run of the mill mage, goat, lion, or snake! It was a saurian mage, and a chimera! And all I had was a stick, a cedar branch, a flask of poison, and my lantern. I gave those ne'er-do-wells such a thrashing!"_

She groaned. It was a cute, quiet noise. "He's great and all, but… he talks so, _so_ much." She tried to keep from smiling, but couldn't manage it. "If you want a bedtime story, he's the person for it."

"I am pretty tired," Jaune joked, smiling softly. Only he wasn't, and his mind was still running wild with his thoughts. "Did that really happen, though?"

Velvet's look softened. "You're really… not from here, are you?"

"I'm pretty far away from home," he said after a moment.

She gestured around them. Jaune thought she meant the room, but realized she was pointing outside. Jaune looked, and noticed for the very first time that the sun was down. It was pitch black out with sparse lights, lanterns, he surmised, dotting the murk. He didn't remember ever seeing a night so dark. It was just _too_ dark.

And then he realized why.

Jaune's eyes flicked up to the sky. Save for thousands of lights too faint to even light the ground, there was no moon in the entire sky. Not a fragment, not a crater. Nothing.

"Far, far away from home…" he said quietly. Velvet took his awed expression for something good, and she wasn't entirely wrong. Any worry Jaune had quickly faded like a water droplet on a hot pan.

"Most people don't manage to pay attention long enough to hear him tell this part, but the gist of it is that Duke Ozpin granted Chief Adaro this village for protecting us during the last Wyrmhunt. While Duke Ozpin was hunting the dragon, our villages and encampments weren't very well protected. Then, I'm told, one day disaster struck and monsters attacked. Chief Adaro came along and saved everyone."

She gestured again at the darkness, though it was almost a pointless gesture. Jaune could see a single, barely lit street that climbed a hill. In the far distance he saw a church. "This is… Cassardis, it's… _home_."

The gratefulness with which she looked at him wasn't something Jaune expected. He knew for a fact that he had never had someone look at him like that in his life. Not his sisters, or even his parents.

A faint, pink aura emerged around her. "It still _is_ because of you," she said, and paused for a moment. "I do not know where you come from Ser Jaune, and I won't invade your privacy about asking, but if you should ever require a place to stay, I don't think _anyone_ would object if you decided to make Cassardis your home."

Altogether inept at dealing with such sincere emotion, due to never having been faced with it, Jaune distantly recognized that, in the past, he would have blurted the first thing to come to mind. His father's advice had been summarily useless, so all he had left was humility, which he was good at that due to an amazing lack of anything else.

"I… got lucky," he said quietly. "And really, really lucky that I didn't get anyone killed, or get in the way. " He looked at his chest and shrugged, causing Velvet to frown. "Well, I _did_ get in the way, but- you know."

"You _saved_ us, Ser Jaune."

"I think my family would have done better," he shrugged again, inwardly noting that before, there would have been no 'think'. It was fact, and now it wasn't.

Velvet shook her head immediately at that, and those ear-like tufts of hair bobbed. "I don't know your family, Ser Jaune, but… I am glad to have known _you_. And I'm glad you were there. For us. You saved us _all_ at the cost of _yourself_ , and in the entire history of Arisen such a thing…. I don't think it's _ever_ been done.

"The dragon always leaves a path of destruction in its wake. Broken villages that come under attack of monsters in their weakened state… they never recover. You saved us from that, Jaune. That makes you a-a _hero_."

The word that would have made him feel higher than a cloud – _Hero_ , _strong,_ like his _family_! Like an _Arc!_ It immediately fell flat and fizzled, and Jaune felt nothing. "My great grandfather was a hero."

Velvet's smile widened and Jaune could swear he heard a chime as she nodded. "I'm sure he would be extremely proud of you… Ser Arisen."

"Jaune," he said, smiling. " _Just_ Jaune. Not Ser, not Arisen, just…"

"Jaune," she finished, laughing. "Would you… like something to eat?" She asked. His stomach answered her for him, and she giggled. "One moment."

She walked over to the fireplace and retrieved a cooked piece of meat that Jaune couldn't exactly recognize, but it looked delicious all the same. Then, as she placed it on a simple wooden plate and handed it to him, the world froze again.

 **Inventory** , the new message that appeared said in large letters at the top, and beneath it was a menu. Jaune could see a picture of the meat there and found it was no longer in his hands.

 **You have received: scrag of beast x2!**

 **This delectable portion of an unnamed beast restores a portion of your stamina. Time sensitive. Don't ask where it came from.**

"Uh… exit?" He offered when the menu didn't disappear, and then it did. He sighed. That was going to take some getting used to. "Water would be nice."

Velvet bowed to him as if nothing had happened, and he supposed that, for her, nothing had. "Good night, Se-" she stopped and she smirked. " _Just_ Jaune."

He smiled at that. "Thanks, Velvet. Good night."

He watched her go from the room, and then watched the lone, retreating light of what could only be a lantern recede into the darkness before laying down on his bedspread and looking up at the ceiling, left with his own thoughts.

" _Dragon's Dogma_ , huh?" He asked to nothing, and nothing answered him. It was quiet, save for the rushing of the waves out in the dark, murky night.

" _Inventory_."

The world was replaced with a menu. Jaune could see the food he had been given by name, and upon reaching for it he saw its appearance. He found he could easily grab it from… nowhere, and while it made his head spin at how _that_ worked, he couldn't bring himself to care. He took out one, the other piece being left behind, almost a copy of the one he had retrieved, and started to chew on it. Smoky, salty. Delicious.

Then something occurred to him. "Do I get to play the _tutorial_?" He muttered. "A game usually has-" he frowned and looked at the menu before him. "Exit," he said, and the menu disappeared.

"…Play the _tutorial_ ," Jaune said, with marginally more confidence.

The world froze again and another message popped up.

 **Would you like to play the tutorial?**

 **Yes/No?**

He grinned. " _Yes_."

And before the world went black, he saw yet another message appear.

 **Prologue complete!** **Quest Complete: Harbinger of Change! Gained: 1500xp! A flask of water! A new home! Title: Arisen!**

* * *

 **The perfectionist in me refuses to let me skip to the parts I want to write the most. Parts with Mercedes, or the court Jester (guess, go ahead,** _ **guess!).**_ **But, I have a weak spot for character interaction.**

 **After the 'tutorial' things will speed up, I hope. Jumping through levels, choice battles, getting mopped, and then mopping. Of course, I'll have to change a few things to keep it interesting. Who doesn't like taking those stat points to the bank, after all? Dragons Dogma would have been so much better if you didn't have to grind vocations you didn't want just to get the best stat allocation and augments. Looking at you, Warrior, mage.**

 **Coughmagickarcknightbestcough.**

 **Thank you so much for the review, favs, and follows!**

 **Diaconsecond: Hey thanks! Worrying about what I'll do next is much less scary than worrying about how. Like, 'he'll fall of a cliff', but how will he? Very difficult.**

 **EiNyx: Hope I didn't disappoint on that front. Jaune is determined, stubborn if only to prove people wrong. But things are different now. The lack of his heart functions like an in-universe Gamer's Mind, but it also… well, you saw. Still, losing your heart isn't all red hair and rose, wink.**

 **It will be taking part in Dragon's Dogma, intermittently.**

 **Dazac: I sure hope so!**

 **Featherine: Grigori is awesome, in both senses of the word. It'll take a while before Jaune can hold a lantern to a** _ **drake**_ **, much less Grigori (I'm not going to take that long). Fortunately he has time, and a reality skewing game, on his side.**

 **Unkindled One: I definitely will not be making Jaune go quickly back to Remnant. The reason why this idea interests me so much is essentially, "That poor level .5 character right there? He's screwed. Level his ass up in a world with cursed dragons and dragonmen, and that freaky jester that looks frighteningly like JDoolz."**

 **Galabrax: To answer your questions in order: He'll get back the same way he left, albeit under very different circumstances, and he'll be strong enough to solo Bitterback Island.**

 **Garoorar: I was hoping someone would notice! Unfortunately, this will be focusing on the DD aspects. It's very fun for me. I still haven't got past season one of RWBY, yet, so I know very little in comparison to other writers and have a distinct dearth of ability for that.**

 **Also, how** _ **dare**_ **you forget Mercedes and… Aelinore (strangling/hugging motions intensify, you _little_ -).**

 **I don't plan for this to be very long, so he won't be in Gransys forever. The question is if he'll want to return.**

 **As to staying overlong, that's typical for the ever turning wheel. Jaune's going to take it off the wagon and** _ **shatter**_ **it.**

 **I hope you enjoyed!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Beta'd by SpookyNoodle**

* * *

 _"Pity to those whose worst enemy is themself - and this does in fact include yours truly. But congratulations to those who overcome their worst enemy. Congratulations, Jaune."_

" _What would you know, Jaune? You're dead."_

* * *

 _It was habit to twirl his sword. Held in his hand just high enough that it didn't smack against the ground, and low enough that it almost skit on top of it but never managing to, he could hear small, rapid footsteps over the rhythmic noise and he walked faster because that was not a good thing._

 _They'd rendezvous at a rift stone. He trusted her to make it that far on her own – pawns weren't helpless, at least, the ones in the service of the Arisen weren't. She was smart, resourceful, and with that hammer of hers she wouldn't be long, unless she found something that no longer needed its legs._

 _The problem was to find a way to get to whatever riftstone she got to. This would have been impossible if his chest didn't have the habit of glowing when she raised her hand in the air. He looked down, past his armor and at the grisly scar. It was faint, and he was heading in the wrong direction, but he planned to head her off at the pass and meet up with her via a far easier, and already cleared way. It wouldn't remain that way for long and it was best to make use of it._

 _The sharp clack and shake of his armor quieted as his steps closed. In this place the doors were barred and released by out of the way levers that he'd meticulously gone through to unlock them all - in some cases that had been a bad decision, but they all provided places to go and things to see. He looked at the one before him and narrowed his eyes. His sword came to a sudden stop. This door wasn't supposed to be locked._

 _He heard it then, the roar of a creature, and turned slowly. It was four legged and black as night, wolf-like in shape and hellish in its eyes and mouth. It was a hellhound, aptly named because – and he unstrapped his shield and took stance as it reared its head back – it spit fire._

 _And it wasn't alone. On its back was a gnarled and pale thing, a demogoblin, ugly in the kindest sense and clad in bones that ranged from small to large in necklaces and rings and the helmet vaguely reminiscent of a deer's skull. It pointed at him and jeered, commanding the beast to charge. The creature shook its 'master' off its back and let loose a ball of fire that careened toward him._

 _Still hearing the footsteps, he knew he needed to make this quick. He smoothly brought up his shield and muttered to himself. Seconds before the fire hit, the shield was encased in ice and a spray of ice erupted from it, freezing and everything in its path. The flame wicked out and the hellhound charged and leapt, fangs bared, its glowing eyes and blazing mouth a nightmare on fire._

 _He brought his shield up in a perfect block as its sharp, glowing teeth careened toward him, causing it to impact painfully into the shield one second, meeting another gout of cold, and was frozen in the next. Like a large ice sculpture it dropped to the ground and he kicked it swiftly, shattering it into dozens of pieces._

 _He heard more footsteps. The demogoblin tried to run, but before it could hope to get away, before it could even get a foot, it was cut down. Light behind it cleaved and a small, diagonal cut appeared. The goblin's slid off of its midsection and it fell to the ground with a wet slap but he had already turned, hurrying to pull the lever and unlock the door._

" _Jaune?"_

 _He whirled saw the scythe first, large and grisly, fresh with blood. She was habitually cleaning the gore from her weapon instead of the blood streaked on her face, looking up at him with big, silver eyes._ " _Jaune!" She exclaimed, a wide, happy smile on her face as if she hadn't tried to kill him minutes earlier.  
_

" _Ah, crap…" He muttered, stepping back and gripping his sword tighter. Maybe he should have taken the hard way._ "… _Hey, Ruby."_

* * *

The world was spinning, and for the life of him Jaune Arc couldn't decide which way was up.

The air was cold and he felt himself moving, but saw nothing but a blurred mass, as if he'd gotten thrown off of a carousel spinning out of control and the only option that remained was to land on the ground.

Jaune hit the cold ground hard while his stomach decided if it wanted to empty itself of the only food he had gotten in days. It soon made its choice and out came the meal, the only one he remembered having since waking up, spewing all over the ground.

He gurgled and lurched as nausea took over him and his vision swam, and any doubts about the reality of the world, whether it was just a computer generated program, not unlike the odd dreams he would have as a child, left him forever. The half-digested meat, blurred, but clearing before his eyes, and the awful smell was real enough. The immense feeling of movement was exacerbated by his motion sickness and he lurched and retched again, his cheek scraping against cold, rough stone, the earthy smell of dirt tainted by vomit.

Dreams couldn't replicate that. This was real life… and it sucked like usual.

Being breathless and clutching his stomach, he knew this was no longer Cassardis and he was no longer in Adaro's home. It wasn't the lack of a bedspread, or fire crackling feet away that told him, or how dark and cold it was - the clothes he'd been given were definitely not suited for this – so quiet that his only company were the noises made by his groaning and stomach roiling.

In an effort to distance himself from the contents of his stomach, Jaune looked up and saw… nothing. Not a roof, not a ceiling, not the faintest stars in the sky. This meant that it had _worked,_ of course. The game had taken him somewhere. It just so happened that now he was in no state or mood to be happy about that, or wonder where he was. He did realize just how ominous that message had been. …This may have been a mistake.

The motions started to fade and Jaune retched again, feeling similar to how it felt to be carelessly waved around as a small child by his sisters. He stumbled and barley caught himself, but the warm, wet smack and _slide_ had him refuse to look down as his hand smacked into the pile. It slid and he fell even more and caught himself with his other hand that also landed in the pile of his misery, which splattered onto his face.

Oh yeah, this was the life.

Shaking, he groaned a tired, miserable, "Ugh," and typical for vomiting until there was nothing left, he felt better. That, Jaune Arc was experienced in. No one knew how to shake off a stomach wrenching retch like him.

' _Good job vomitboy._ ' He grimaced, leaned back on his knees and wiped his mouth. "Never... Again."

Then, something caught his attention. A slight noise that sounded both like a faint whir caused by rapid spinning, and… a fire. Jaune turned and found a rather large, inexplicably cut stone sitting behind him. Its appearance left little room for guessing - it looked like a gigantic tooth. Or, a dragon's claw. One glance at his chest told Jaune which one it was.

Having no reason not to – and with one disgusted glance at his hands and a cursory estimation of how he got where he was, Jaune decided the stone had it coming – he extended his hand. It was just far enough that he could almost touch it with his longest finger, but he felt petty and awful, as if the stone was blonde and called him vomitboy itself.

The second his fingertip touched it the oddly shaped rock sprang to life like a crackling fire, showering and spouting embers spout off to the sides of it. Jaune jerked back but they never made it off of the face of the stone or its edges. The embers progressed into a visibly hot blue and purple that glowed that swirled to the center of the stone, and with it a similar sinking feeling of realization took the place of Jaune's lost meal, was accompanied by a tingling hot sensation in his chest, right at the grisly scar - between the way the stone-fire spun in the center, and how the embers outside of it raced around them all endlessly, as well as the shape of the rock, he had the tedious answer to a question he hadn't bothered to ask yet.

The stone was some kind of… teleporter. The game brought him here using it, and… it wasn't something he wanted to repeat.

Jaune slowly pulled away, not wanting to be taken on another ride that would undoubtedly have him dry heaving or throwing up a lung. He imagined being sent back to Adaro's home as is, hands caked in puke, and grimaced. He didn't want to be a bother to Adaro, or have Velvet come running back for him. Silently Jaune wiped his hands in fresh, black dirt until they didn't feel wet anymore, and then did it until they felt overly dry and he couldn't smell anything.

The moment his finger left the proximity of the stone the fire had died. Jaune looked at it and shook his head. "Welcome to _Dragon's Dogma_ ," he said, miserably hoarse and with any enthusiasm torn from his throat. It was not the sound of someone who knew what they were doing.

Slowly he stood up, his legs feeling weak and unsteady as he muttered, "Where am I?" But he quickly noticed that this was pointless when his voice came back to him in an echo.

He was _alone,_ and turned over and again to take in his surroundings. To his front – unless it was really up and he was still woozy – there was only darkness at first, but the longer he stared the more he could just make out the vague silhouettes of buildings, but only just. And even from what he'd barely seen of Cassardis, he knew they weren't the same.

This was abandoned, as told by dirt road extended out and away with no lights and no signs of life. Above him, he couldn't see even the brightest star and how the rushing of water was rapid beneath him, and not distant and calm like the sea outside of Adaro's home. It smelled cold and old instead of briny. And like puke. Definitely not beachfront property.

' _Ruin?'_ The word popped into his head. It seemed right. He was in a _ruin_. He didn't like ruins, dark or no. The last time he had been in one hadn't exactly ended well for him, had it?

Again he thought better, and too late, of his choice to accept the game's offer. At this a simmer of fear tried to catch hold in his chest. Should he really be here, alone and helpless? If anything happened…

The feeling faded immediately and Jaune took a deep breath; _everyone_ was helpless at some point. Even his sisters had been once. ' _Probably_.'

Cassardis had been, and if what Velvet had told him was true, in front of the Dragon _everyone_ was helpless. But he could and had changed that...at sacrifice to himself. It made him a _hero._ Jaune laughed at that. He might have been helpless, but he didn't _have to be,_ right?

He would change how helpless he was. That's why he was here. The tutorial. Jaune Arc was an _Arisen_ and he wouldn't turn back now. ' _Defeat the dragon… be a hero_ ,' he thought with a small, wondering huff. _'Reclaim your heart... Sounds simple enough.'_

' _Stop anyone else from dying at the Dragon's hands. …Claws?'_ Jaune rolled his eyes. _'…Go home.'_

Home?

It had been weeks since he left home and Velvet said he was asleep for a couple of days. …How was his family doing? They _had_ to know he was gone by now.

A sudden realization hit him with enough force to make Jaune blink: He was _gone,_ had fallen from a _cliff._

Before, he feared his family tracking him down and coming to Beacon to drag him back. He'd been prepared to stand his ground and not go, but he'd literally gone from one world into the next, and though he more or less fine (the lack of his heart didn't seem too worrying), to the rest of the world… he was dead. He had to be, Jaune Arc fell from a cliff to his apparent death and no one, _no one,_ knew where he was. It was a sobering thought.

He tried to imagine the looks on his parents and siblings faces. When he got what seemed like an accurate depiction of… something, be it sadness or shock or loss, and he cycled through them all and found that not once had he'd seen them associated with him, Jaune felt nothing.

The only option was to move forward, then. To get back home, he needed to defeat the Dragon. Worrying, just like he had all of his life, wouldn't help in the slightest. Not here, not ever. He could settle things then.

He tried to think of how relieved his family could be and felt indifferent.

With nothing but darkness before him, and a cursory glance to the sides showing a steep drop on his left and right, coincidentally moving forward meant turning around. He did, and slowly craned his neck very top of the... Well, it couldn't call it a building. His house was a building. This was… bigger. A giant mausoleum, big, and stuck out like a sore thumb in this dark place, the far high and away ceiling of what he recognized as a cave ceiling providing a steep contrast. But it was the only thing that seemed like it belonged. Unlike the ruins in the Foreverfall, it was intact, and just as intimidating.

Looking back down, he saw an open door. He looked behind him and then at the stone, and finally at his chest before taking a step forward. Then another, into the doorway where a lone, long corridor awaited him, barely illuminated by a light eclipsed by a flight of stairs.

The color was drained from the world Jaune stopped as a message appeared. But something looked and felt… _off._

 **I hear the sounds of a great and terrible battle brewing,** it said, but as he tried to dismiss it, it didn't move. He did it again and again but it wouldn't budge. When it finally went away Jaune knew that it wasn't because of him.

Another one appeared in its place and he jerked back because of it. It was _talking_ to him _._ **Don't you? The sound of battle... I remember this. So tiresome.**

There was a silent voice to this, a personality that hadn't been there before. He could almost hear the voice behind the words as if the game was speaking to him. Games might not be able to talk, but he walked around without a heart. This was better than going insane, at least.

The message disappeared and before Jaune could walk any further the world _shook_. It was a deafening noise, like lightning meeting stone echoed through the lone corridor, the sound bouncing off of the walls and making his ears rattle. It happened again and again, the sound of breaking, cracking ice, roaring fire, and booming thunder all together in a ground vibrating cacophony. He ran toward the noise before he could think better of it.

 **Yet again… Slave to a broken order,** another message came, and with it the cold voice that Jaune could almost hear next to him. **All you are, is** _ **repetition**_ **.** **Dare you look upon the truth?**

The message's voice almost stopped Jaune, whatever was causing it didn't sound ' _good'_. It _sounded_ like trouble. The font was still the same, still seemingly indifferent to the messages previous, but it bore a cold, hard edge to it.

 _ **Arisen.**_

This message, clouding his vision stubbornly like one of his sisters, gave way to show the ouroboros again. It spun until it didn't, then it cracked down the center where he assumed it started, right down the middle. It crumbled into ash and the message disappeared.

Jaune hadn't realized he was still running and stumbled. He was at the stairs now and leapt up them, jumping two stairs and then three at a time - his sisters could have done better but he didn't care, and jumped again. Four steps. He was at the top.

As Jaune reached the top of the stairs, breaking out into a wide room that made Beacon's halls look tiny in comparison, he saw the world broken. The largest stone columns he had ever laid eyes on broke like chips and cracked against the ground. The world was slow and with a clarity that chilled him Jaune could see the bodies. Skeletons. Rusted and forgotten weapons, all strewn about as carelessly as their owners. He stepped on one of them and felt the cold, decomposed hand underneath his sandaled foot, and was grateful for his now empty stomach.

And in the center of it all... Jaune watched as something crashed from the air and into the ground. The floor broke like a layer of ice and Jaune saw odd green mist that he had fallen through _,_ but he soon paid less attention to that and more attention to the whirling vortex that erupted from the center of the now broken floor with a gust so powerful that it sounded like all hell had broken loose.

He watched helplessly, just on the edge of the vortex, as person after person was sucked inside. Dead, _and_ the living. Jaune saw three of them - a large man that eclipsed even his _father_ , a tiny woman with a pointed hat, and one with a bow. They ran, but not for long, and soon tried to claw away from the center but couldn't escape. It was only a second later that, in the center, they fell.

Literally _fell_ , Jaune watched them suddenly drop from the world and felt the familiar lurch of his stomach. He could feel his feet moving too, slowly but surely and ever quicker getting pulled to the center, and their fate would be his.

' _Come on…'_

The wind was insane, the gust that pulled on him causing the shirt he'd woken up in to flap wildly. The alabaster fabric caught his eye and Jaune looked down at the corpse that only remained because his foot held it in place. Its feet flapped like grotesque strings and his eyes darted to its weapon that wedged itself between cracks in the ground – it was an ugly _thing_ of a sword, rusted and chipped. It would have horrified his father and sisters to see it, but Jaune lacked their appreciation for weapons.

In the same second he heard yelling. Jaune's head snapped up and there, dozens of feet away and well within the pull of the vortex he could see someone running for dear life.

' _It's just a matter of time…'_ His chest felt cold, but the ground was as giving as ice, and any step the figure took was ultimately lost. Slowly, Jaune looked over to the center and saw the thing that caused it all. It was gigantic, like the Dragon given human form. His blood felt like freezing when he could have sworn its small, red eyes flick to him.

He stepped back, eyes flicking to the pitiful weapon on the ground. He barely knew how to use one, was hard to teach, learning was _difficult,_ but he knew what happened the last time he charged something with a sword. And the time before that. It never ended well.

In a single movement Jaune knelt down and swept the sword up by the hilt. It felt… fitting. He adjusted his grip and the corpse went flying like feather into the center of the room, its nightmarish visage flapping helplessly at the corner of Jaune's vision as it was sucked in to the swirling green vortex.

Velvet had called him _Arisen_ , a _hero,_ after all. And really, after falling to his death, _then_ getting up to lose his heart, what else could happen?

He swallowed thickly. _'…Third time's the charm.'_

Jaune strafed sharply to left and ran as fast as he could. It was an ankle twisting pace as the growing influence of the vortex sucked him to the side, gradually but assuredly bringing him closer and closer to the center. His feet skid with every step he took and he took to all but jumping with his strides instead. He could feel his clothes flapping and his feet giving way, losing balance – one small slip and his chin would smash against the floor and he'd go flying if he didn't catch himself. Jaune didn't _trust_ himself enough to catch himself, but would get up, and he would keep going.

He set his eyes on the only other soul he could see, and the biggest difference between the two of them was not lost on Jaune – the other, a man, visibly older than him, was smart enough to run away but Jaune Arc just happened to be the type of person _dumb_ enough to run toward trouble, either on purpose on accident. Knowing his family wouldn't have done the latter made him grin maniacally. His heart, if he still had one, would have thundered.

The man's hair was short and messy and red, and it could have been the green light cast by the vortex, but he saw his eyes were green, almost familiar. But hair was dark and his face was hard, scarred, dirty, and Jaune could see that it wasn't taking everything the man had to run, even with armor looking as heavy as Jaune felt and a sword and Shield at his side and a billowing red cape behind him.

Jaune could feel himself start to flag – he wasn't a runner, that was one of his sisters – and leapt with effort over fallen debris, the remains of a once great column of stone, and skid past what remained of a pile of corpses he spotted before like he'd made a mad dash and turn into a narrow hallway. He stumbled, arms flailing to right himself, and lost another foot of distance to the vortex, straying dangerously close to behind the person _he_ was trying to save. This was new.

"Come on…." He muttered to himself, and then yelled at the top of his lungs, " _Hang on!"_

He didn't think the man had heard him but was close enough to hear his forceful breathing as he sprinted for his life, but then the man's eyes flicked to him once and did a double take. In that type, Jaune, with his long legs and fierce, desperate strides, lost another half foot but gained another _five feet_ , and slammed into the man as hard as he could with a resounding grunt that took the air out of his lungs.

His father was strong, his mother was fast, and his youngest, most _volatile_ sister could kick and tackle like a _mule._ Jaune thought of them and bulldozed into the man, tackling him forward and using his momentum and size to push him forward. The force of the vortex was too great and his momentum quickly petered away, but Jaune stubbornly clawed distance for himself until they were on the fringes and kept going until the pull of the vortex could no longer be felt.

And with an exhausted sigh and a troublingly silent chest that contradicted everything he had ever felt of running in his life, Jaune dragged the man behind one of the broken columns and collapsed like a sack of rocks, his rusted sword clanging to the ground next to him.

Almost immediately the man was up, possessing far more endurance evidently, dragging Jaune up by his wrist. Jaune looked through tired eyes as his mouth moved but could barely hear him; he felt half exhausted, as if he'd just sparred with his father or sister. He hadn't done that in long, _long_ time _…_

The man's face was covered in stubble and his eyes were indeed a dark green, and his short, dark red hair was just barely covering his bloodstained forehead. He was yelling, but Jaune for life of him, couldn't hear what he was yelling _about,_ though he had a good guess. Considering the circumstances, it probably wasn't a hearty 'thank you'.

" _We need to go now!"_ The man's voice may as well have been under water, because Jaune's head was swimming. " _We need to leave!"_ He tugged at Jaune's arm and easily pulled him up and away from the column, and Jaune's haggard body followed.

"I don't know who you are or how you got here, friend, but you saved my life and I'm going to return the favor," the man said. He hurriedly dug into his pocket and took out a small, circular rock. Jaune shook his head as he spied it, seeing the familiar whirling pattern.

" _Dragon's dogma_ ," Jaune muttered, seeing the stone. The similarity were unmistakable. The man lobbed it into the air and hefted Jaune up just as he started to fall. It wasn't gentle. Just like the old spars, alright. ' _Some tutorial this is…'_

The man snapped his head to Jaune. " _What?!_ "

The stone started to fall and the next thing Jaune saw was a blinding light. It illuminated illuminating the man's face; his hair was a lot darker, as were his eyes, and he was no material for a cereal box, but Jaune could see the resemblance. It jogged his memory like an unstuck cog and he remembered Pyrrha Nikos, and wondered if they were related.

The light consumed everything and, suddenly, the man wasn't there anymore. Jaune collapsed to the ground in a tired pile of taxed muscle and expended stamina, felt his chin smack against the ground and clenched his jaw with the impact. It was just like the old spars.

His staggered vision tried to spy the ground around him but he couldn't see. _"Hey…You… you-you okay…?"_ Jaune called. He pawed around and felt nothing. The man was gone without a trace. Realization set in – he was alone, _again,_ and no one was here to help him this time.

He palmed the ground to try to get back to the column – to _rest, Oum_ he was so tired. Just like the old spars. He couldn't even manage that. He felt breathless and weak like a kick to the stomach, and when the sound of thunderous footsteps sent vibrations from the cold ground to his cheek, he still couldn't look up.

He thought he would vomit again, but it didn't happen. That was good. He stuck his nose into a place it didn't belong, _again,_ and this is what he got, but at least he wouldn't puke.

' _Third time's the charm, alright…'_ He was always extremely difficult when it came to learning. His family realized that at some point, but once more it seemed like Jaune himself hadn't gotten that message, hadn't decided to quit.

He smiled a little at that.

A voice started to speak but he couldn't understand it. It was distant, faded, and eventually stopped. In its place, another message appeared before his eyes and the narration was just as accommodating as before.

 **Hello, Jaune.**

Jaune clutched his stomach as the world continued to move, the color kept its saturation, and the game acted of its own accord. He had only one thing to say. "Ah, _crap_."

He'd managed to play hero one more time, but… Jaune wasn't so sure he liked this game anymore.

* * *

 **And back to the irregularly scheduled Jaunening. A wild Arisen appears; it's a jungle out there. (Bad) Things are happening for (to) Jaune. Isn't he just** _ **so**_ **lucky?**

 **Also, everyone who's played the game will probably know what's going on, but in case you don't, or haven't played it, shoot me a message with your question. But, Savan, you remember Savan, right? And that annoying move of the Daimon's? Of course you do.**

 **Thanks to everyone who has enjoyed this so far! A warning, though: I don't plan on making it a typical gamer-fic. I wonder if I should put gamer in quotation marks in that case, just in case.**

 **Telron: Nope!**

 **Featherine: Oh, they definitely are the best. The Hellfire armor is my favorite, but that's only because of the cloak. I've never fought the Ur-Dragon online, but now I'm getting ideas.**

 **And yes! The Arisen does learn extremely quickly. Kind of a necessity, I'd think.**

 **Funny you should mention the Daimon too. He's apparently** _ **really**_ **powerful. This chapter is because of you.**

 **Tetchy crane: Thanks for the suggestion! I have no clue if I'll go into the specifics of the magic. I've half a mind to just say 'magic'. How does that work? Magic. How's that do whatever? Magic. How's that on fire but still alive? Resistance to magic.**

 **As for the harem, I did wonder about it. I honestly don't know at this point – romance is hardly the first thing on Jaune's mind, but with Dragon's Dogma, the same might not be said for others.**

 **Dazac, crasyadis, zacshadrack: Thanks lads!**

 **Draconianerror: Thank you. Jaune will be exploring Bitterback Isle during both times. You can imagine what'll happen if he tries to go there mid-game.**

 **Shirosaki Kizuro: Thanks!**

 **Fantasy OH YEA: Velvet is pretty great. I hope she stays around too!**

 **Hope you enjoyed and many thousand thanks to SpookyNoodles!**


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